


may it be sweet milk

by dilkirani



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - The Vow Fusion, Amnesia, Angst with a Happy Ending, Challenge Response, F/M, Gen, TFSN Rom Com Challenge, The Vow AU, fsromcom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-09
Updated: 2016-09-12
Packaged: 2018-08-14 00:08:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7991365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dilkirani/pseuds/dilkirani
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fitz and Jemma are happily married until a car accident leaves Jemma with severe memory loss. She doesn't know who Fitz is, has a confusing relationship with her parents, and now has feelings for a former fiancé. Despite all this, Fitz is determined to renew their bond and rebuild their marriage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. prologue: a perfect night

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the TFSN's summer hiatus rom com challenge. Some lines are from the movie itself.  
> Thanks to itsavolcano for the beta!

**This Marriage - Ode 2667**

_May these vows and this marriage be blessed._  
_May it be sweet milk,_  
_this marriage, like wine and halvah._  
_May this marriage offer fruit and shade_  
_like the date palm._  
_May this marriage be full of laughter,_  
_every day a day in paradise._  
_May this marriage be a sign of compassion,_  
_a seal of happiness here and hereafter._  
_May this marriage have a good name,_  
_an omen as welcome_  
_as the moon in a clear blue sky._  
_I am out of words to describe_  
_how spirit mingles in this marriage_

_\- Rumi_

++

Jemma and Fitz exit the theatre to see that Chicago has been transformed in the three hours they spent inside. Snow falls down like glitter, covering every surface, and the streets are oddly quiet for the hour. Fitz slides a gloved hand through hers, feeling the heat of her fingers laced through his, and pulls her in for a leisurely kiss.

“Fiiiiiitz,” she whines. “Let’s continue this in the car. It’s freezing!” He dutifully steps away, brushing his nose against hers, the biting air already making his eyes water. They race to the car; Jemma dives in immediately, smirking up at him as he’s forced to clear the snow from the window.

The drive home is quiet, both of them exhausted from the late night and the chill, which seeps through the windows no matter what they do. When they’re almost home, Jemma bites her lip, glancing at him with a warmth he can feel deep in his bones.

“I love you,” she says softly, and Fitz’s heart clenches pleasantly. They’ve been married for five years and he thought by now he’d be used to the feeling of being loved by Jemma Simmons, but it staggers him every time. He’s so far removed from the scrawny, friendless kid he used to be that he can hardly remember what it means to be lonely.

“I love you, too,” he answers, sneaking a look out of the corner of his eye. Jemma unbuckles her seatbelt as he slows to a stop at the turn-off for their street, leaning over the center console to kiss his cheek, his jawline, rubbing her cold nose against his stubble.

There’s so much he wants to say: that she saved him from a lifetime of nothingness, that all these years later a part of him still can’t believe she chose _him_ , that he hopes this is the month they find out she’s pregnant, because he can’t wait to be a parent with her.

Instead, he turns his face towards her, capturing her lips in a kiss that he hopes conveys everything he doesn’t know how to articulate. When she finally pushes away, he can’t help grasping for her.

“Jemma--” he starts, but his eyes are drawn to the rearview mirror, to a truck that’s driving much too fast for the conditions. He barely registers a horrible metallic sound before he’s thrown forward and almost immediately forced back by the airbag, and it feels like a hundred punches to the stomach. Glass is raining down around him, sparkling in the moonlight. He’s holding his breath and fighting for the surface, but everything is so far away. He thinks he might drown.

 _Jemma Jemma Jemma_ his mind repeats on a loop. He sees her sprawled out on the hood of the car but he must be dreaming because they had spontaneously decided to go out for a movie that evening and this couldn’t be his punishment. The film had a happy ending; nothing is adding up correctly in his brain.

When emergency workers pull his shaking body from the wreckage, there’s so much he’s struggling to ask. Instead, he reaches for Jemma’s still figure and screams.

 


	2. a fresh start

They haven’t let Fitz in to see Jemma for a full _day_. His left arm is broken (same two places it broke in second grade), but it’s nothing compared to the way his heart throbs. He can’t remember ever being so frightened in his life.

Dr. Morse, Jemma’s kind but firm doctor, leads him gently into Jemma’s room. “Don’t crowd her,” she warns. “She’s going to be a little groggy. There will possibly be aftereffects from the brain trauma, but it’s been difficult to ascertain the extent of the damage so far.”

Fitz nods but barely registers her words. He and Jemma have gotten through every difficulty they’ve ever faced together. This won’t be any different.

When he enters her room, he immediately feels the tension draining from him. She’s sitting up in the hospital bed, pale but radiant as always. Her cuts and abrasions have been cleaned and she smiles at him softly. _She’s alive_ , Fitz thinks, and he realizes a part of him had been terrified the doctors were lying to keep him calm.

“Hey,” he says quietly, smiling at her but not coming any closer. His fingers itch to touch her, to push the hair that’s fallen across her face behind her ear. He wants to hold her and kiss her and never stop, but he fights every impulse and follows the doctor’s orders. “It’s good to see you. How are you feeling?”

He sees something flash across Jemma’s face before she regains her composure. She’s never faked anything in front of him, but he supposes after everything it’s not unexpected. “I’m okay,” she answers finally. “I just… everything feels a bit strange.”

“Well, you’ve been through a lot. It’s okay; you should be able to leave soon.” 

Something tight settles in his stomach; something is off. _She’s going to be a little groggy; she’s just a little confused._ He glances over at Dr. Morse, who gives them both a thin smile.

“We still have tests to run, Jemma. But I’m glad to see you awake and talking--this is good news for your recovery.” Dr. Morse's voice is clinically detached but somehow warm all the same.

Jemma nods, eyes flitting back and forth carefully between Dr. Morse and Fitz. When Dr. Morse turns to leave, Fitz pauses uncomfortably, unsure if he’ll be forced to leave as well. Jemma catches his attention. “Do you… do you know _when_ exactly I’ll be able to leave?” she asks him, and Fitz feels strange, like he’s the one who’s just woken up with a traumatic brain injury. The pieces should be slotting together, but they’re not.

“You… you know who I am, right?” he asks, mostly confident that it’s a ridiculous question but needing to hear the answer from her anyway.

“Yeah, you’re one of my doctors.”

Fitz feels laughter bubbling up inside him and somehow manages to tamp it down. He sits down by her bed gingerly, aware of Dr. Morse tensing in the doorway. But what does Dr. Morse know? Jemma is his _wife;_ sometimes he thinks he knows her better than he knows himself.

“Jemma,” he starts, kindly, delicately. “I’m your husband.” He reaches for her hand but she flinches away from him and that’s when his whole world shatters.

++

“You said things were good!” Fitz yells at Dr. Morse, although some part of him feels guilty for taking this out on her.

“I told you, Leo--”

“Fitz,” he cuts her off, irritably. Just another thing this doctor doesn’t know.

“Fitz,” she corrects, gently but firmly. “Traumatic brain injuries such as Jemma’s can cause some impairment.”

" _Some_ impairment? She doesn’t remember me!” And it’s this moment, this saying it out loud, that causes all of the fight to leave his body in a rush. He collapses down onto a nearby sofa, pinching the bridge of his nose and willing himself not to cry in front of this stranger.

“Dr. Morse--” he starts, and she breaks in with “Bobbi.”

He looks up at her, slightly blurry through the tears he hasn’t been able to entirely contain. “Bobbi. I’m… I’m sorry. I know it’s not your fault. But I…” he holds his hands toward her, palms up, begging for anything.

She sighs, perching on the edge of a chair next to him and placing a hand lightly on his knee. “I know this is hard to accept. But there’s still a good chance for Jemma to recover her memory. I’m going to do everything I can to help her, okay? I promise.”

Fitz nods, wanting to speak but finding that he’s suddenly more exhausted than he’s ever been in his entire life. He slides down the sofa, already fitfully asleep by the time Bobbi brings a blanket to drape over him.

In his dreams, he and Jemma are in the hospital for an entirely different reason, and he’s never been more happy in his life.

++

A soft jab to his shoulder wakes Fitz up hours later and he starts, seeing the face of his wife swimming as his vision clears. He reaches for her instinctively, intending to draw her in for a kiss, but she stumbles back a step and he places his palm over his chest instead, trying to hold his heart together as he remembers everything that’s transpired in the past 48 hours.

“Hi,” Jemma says, sweetly but unsure. “What’re you up to?”

“Sleeping,” Fitz replies, keeping his voice as light and steady as he can. “I brought you some clothes.”

Jemma nods, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. “I just wanted to verify a few things,” she says, and Fitz can’t help smiling at how _Jemma_ she sounds. _She’s still the woman I love_ , he thinks. That has to be the only thing that matters.

“So, we’re married?” she asks, a faint blush tingeing her cheeks, and he nods calmly. He’s never been this careful around her, but she’s recoiled from him twice since he’s seen her, and he’s desperate to make her trust him again.

“And uh, what do I do?”

“Oh,” he starts excitedly, eager to talk about something safer, something that won’t destroy him from the inside out. “You’re an artist! Jemma, you’re so great. You just got a commission for--”

But she cuts him off, rubbing at her right temple in a way he’s never seen her do before. “But what about my medical degree?”

Fitz pauses, realizing he’s once again drawn them towards dangerous territory. Jemma reads him in an instant. “I don’t have a medical degree?”

“Um, I think you were a few credits short.” He smiles softly at her, but she just stares at him as if he’s the one ruining her carefully cultivated life.

++

Bobbi, who, as it turns out is terrifying _and_ the most kind-hearted doctor he’s encountered, encourages him to take time off from the hospital, so Fitz finds himself in his studio, recounting the whole sordid tale to Daisy, Mack, and Hunter.

They’re all silent for a moment after Fitz finishes. Daisy lays a reassuring hand on his arm but too gently, as if she’s afraid to break him.

“To be honest, I was a little surprised she went for you in the first place,” Hunter says, pulling from his beer.

“Yeah, and if anything you’re less attractive now,” Mack offers. Fitz stares at them both before choking out a laugh. His whole life feels like some dream he can’t quite surface from, but somehow his friends have managed to revive him for the moment.

“You guys are a great support system, truly,” he says, rolling his eyes but conceding a smile. “But seriously… what if…” he picks at the label of his beer carefully, not making eye contact with any of them. “What if she doesn’t remember me?” He hasn’t allowed himself to articulate this fear to anyone - not to Bobbi, not to his mum when he finally called her crying the night before, and he doesn’t quite have the strength to face any of them when he asks.

Daisy gives him a little shove. “She’s going to remember all of us! We’re a family, yeah?” He looks up at his friend, forcing everything else deep down inside of him. Daisy’s right, they _are_ a family and those feelings can’t just go away. They _can’t_.

++

When Fitz returns to the hospital, Jemma isn’t in her room, and he immediately starts to panic before a nurse informs him that she’s been moved to the VIP wing. Something is off; he and Jemma certainly couldn’t afford a single room on their own.

He walks into her room and everyone stops talking, the air rushing out as he blinks rapidly, trying to recover.

An older man and woman whom Fitz recognizes vaguely as Jemma’s parents stand next to their daughter and eye him cautiously. Her father steps forward, extending a hand. “Hi, Leo. I’m Malcolm. Good to finally meet you.” But his tone doesn’t indicate he actually enjoys meeting him, and Fitz can’t help suspecting Malcolm knows he prefers his last name but called him Leo anyway.

Jemma glances back and forth between her parents and Fitz, scrunching her forehead in a way that makes Fitz’s heart ache. He hasn’t hugged her in days, and he never realized before how empty his arms feel without her.

“I don’t understand,” she says carefully to her father. “Why haven’t you met him?” Malcolm looks to his wife, who gazes at her feet. Fitz balances himself carefully, afraid to move. At that moment, Bobbi steps in with some paperwork, and Jemma’s father turns to her without answering his daughter’s question. “As I understand it, Jemma will be discharged soon. We’ll take her home with us.”

“Wait, what?” Fitz asks, finding his voice finally and cringing at how choked and weak he sounds. “Shouldn’t she come home with me? We’re married!”

Jemma rounds on him, face pleading for something he doesn’t know how to provide. “How is it that we’ve been married for years and you’ve never met my parents?”

He flinches, not wanting to do this in front of an audience. He’s always been a coward. “You uh… you haven’t spoken to them in years.”

Jemma scoffs, clearly not believing him, and why should she? She’s the love of his life, but he’s just a stranger to her. “Why would I ever stop speaking to my family?”

He wants to tell her, he wants to tell her everything so badly. But he doesn’t know his own place anymore, and part of him worries that she won’t believe him and he can’t afford to anger her right now. “It all happened before we met,” he says. _Coward_.

Jemma rubs her right temple again, clearly agitated as her mother attempts to soothe her and her father sends Fitz tight glares that somehow he feels he deserves after all. “I just…” she starts finally. “I remember being in medical school and engaged to Milton.”

“The doctor said the best thing for your recovery is to get back to your normal life,” Fitz argues, looking to Bobbi for confirmation. “That’s, that’s with _me_.”

“Okay, but I don’t even know you! We don’t even have any proof that we’re in love!”

“Other than our marriage?” he asks, somehow unsurprised that Jemma needs more proof than a marriage certificate.

“People get married for all kinds of reasons!” she explains, glaring at him, and if anything her temper melts him. This soft, scared person hadn’t been the Jemma of only a few weeks ago.

He holds up a hand, trying to think before scrambling in his pocket for his cell phone. He pauses, then plays the last voicemail he has from her, the one he’s been playing over and over recently when he’s being masochistic and needing a good cry.

 _Hey, Fitz!_ Her voice comes, clear and sparkling over the phone’s speaker, and he wills himself not to break down in front of her parents and Bobbi. _I miss you so much my sculptures are starting to look like you. It’s a little bizarre. I know you’re probably in a meeting right now, but I just thought I’d see how things were going. Come back soon, I need my Fitzy time!_

A strangled silence falls over everyone as Jemma’s bright voice ends. Fitz sees the way her parents glance at each other and he shifts uncomfortably. “You… you quit medical school and moved into the city. Those were decisions you made before you even met me. Come home with me, we’ll figure it out. We can fix this, together.”

Jemma stares at him, tilting her head and considering his proposition. He tries not to imagine that he’s just handed over his heart to her, tries not to think about how easily she can destroy him.

“I guess I can try it out, just to see if it would help my memory. I can always come home if I change my mind.” She bites her lip, looking to her parents for approval. “I married him. It must have been for some reason, right?”

“A guarded endorsement,” her mother says, shooting Fitz a cold look which he doesn’t even notice in his euphoria.

“I’ll take it!” he exclaims. Fighting the urge to kiss her doesn’t even hurt as much as usual.


	3. rock, meet hard place

The drive home is awkward, there’s no getting around that. Fitz can’t help replaying how different this is from the last time they were in a car together--laughing, flirting, thinking about having a _baby_ for god’s sake. But he can tell she’s trying and his insecurities won’t do either of them any good. So they keep things light, tossing simple questions-and-answers back and forth.

“Who’s the president?” she asks.

“Of the United States?”

She rolls her eyes. “Obviously.”

“Oh, Obama.”

“What? The Illinois senator?”

“Yeah! You were upset that I couldn’t vote for him, actually. You were trying to convince me to finally get my US citizenship.”

“Noooo, really?” She laughs then, shaking her head and he grins over at her, careful not to stare too long.

He pulls up to their place, a little nervous. Before she’d set out for Chicago on her own, she’d been accustomed to a much wealthier lifestyle. They’d built something fantastic for themselves, or so he thought, but between her art and his music business, they weren’t exactly living a high-end life.

He opens the door for her and she steps into a loud chorus of “welcome home!” A crowd of people crush them and it seems like everyone they know is crammed into their tiny apartment.

“We really missed you,” he hears Daisy say, squeezing Jemma tightly. Elena tries handing Jemma a drink, but she holds her hand up and he sees it shaking slightly. _Shite_. He knew this was a bad idea, but Daisy wouldn’t be dissuaded.

They’re not home ten minutes before Jemma ducks into their bedroom alone, and he regretfully ushers everyone out, promising to have them all back when Jemma’s ready. Daisy apologizes repeatedly while Fitz tries to tactfully lead her towards the door.

When everyone’s gone, he hovers for a moment at the edge of their bedroom, instantly at a complete loss. He’s spent almost a decade of his life learning every nuance of Jemma Simmons, every mood, every expression. He doesn’t know how much of her is the same, doesn’t know how to comfort someone who looks at him like he’s a stranger.

Taking a breath, he approaches her calmly. “Hey, Jemma? You okay?”

She glares at him. “What do you think?” she hisses, and Fitz wants to fall apart. She’s always been the stronger one.

“I know it’s a lot… it’s a lot to take in,” he offers carefully.

“No,” she bites out. “A lot to take in would be coming home to a strange apartment with a man I don’t know. But all of that with a million people I don’t know pulling me and hugging me… I just. Can you _please_ just leave me alone right now?”

Fitz nods, quietly grabbing a t-shirt and leaving to sleep on the couch. Jemma shuts the door behind him, placing a palm on the unfamiliar wood, looking at his bedroom-- _their_ bedroom--and feeling sick to her stomach.

She lays face down on the bed, hoping the blankets will muffle her sobs. Jemma’s never been one for outward displays of emotion, especially not around strangers.

++

The next morning Jemma awakes calmer and slightly embarrassed over her outburst the night before. She realizes that Fitz is only trying to help and mostly she’s frustrated at her own brain for letting her down so spectacularly.

She idly rummages through the closet, frowning as she flips past paint-splattered t-shirts. She can’t find anything that resembles her usual style--bright button-up shirts, matching ties, patterned blouses. Eventually she pulls a worn UChicago hoodie over her camisole, sighing at the softness.

Jemma pads into the kitchen, wondering how long it will take before she’s not constantly walking on the broken pieces of her old life.

Fitz looks up at her cautiously and Jemma cringes. She might not remember him, but it’s clear he’s trying so hard for her.

“I uh, wanted to apologize,” he starts, not quite meeting her eyes. “For last night. I shouldn’t have pushed too fast. So I thought I’d make us a nice breakfast, if that’s okay?”

She smiles at him, as genuinely as she is able. “That sounds good.”

“You look nice,” he says, almost as an afterthought, although she can see the slight tension in his shoulders as he waits for her response.

“Really?” she laughs. “This is the only piece of my clothing I felt comfortable in, actually.”

He turns to her, childlike in his hope. “That’s my hoodie.” She doesn’t know how to respond, but doesn’t take it off. It feels safe. She wonders if her subconscious is trying to tell her something, if she would feel safe in his arms.

“Um, so what’s my routine?” she asks, as he places a bowl of scrambled eggs on the table and reaches for a pitcher of fresh-squeezed orange juice. Part of her wonders if this is just who he is, or if this treatment is reserved for when your significant other suffers a traumatic brain injury. It bothers her to think she might never know.

“Well, usually you get up before me and make tea, but I’ve got that covered this morning,” he answers, bringing her a fresh mug. He’s trying to be nonchalant, but she can sense him observing her as she takes a sip.

“Mmm,” she sighs. “Just how I like it.”

Fitz turns back to pour himself a cup, hiding the relief that shudders through him. “And then you answer emails and head down to your studio to work.”

Jemma nods. “And what about you? When you’re not making me a gourmet meal every morning.” Fitz laughs, and he’s so close to offering to make her gourmet meals for the rest of their lives if she’ll only stay. Somehow, he swallows the words back down.

“Well, I’m usually at the recording studio around now, but I was going to take some time off.”

Jemma frowns. “Haven’t you already taken a lot of time off?”

“Well, yeah, but…” he shrugs.

“You should go,” she says. “Maybe it would be good for us both to get back into our own routines. I’ll be fine here.”

Fitz bounces nervously from foot to foot. “I don’t know, I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.”

“ _Fitz,”_ Jemma says. “I’ll be fine. I think it would be good for us. We can even make flashcards later.”

He considers but eventually relents. “Okay, I’ll leave you the keys and your phone’s here - it’s got my number if you need anything. I mean it, anything at all.”

Fitz grabs his bag and finds himself drawn to her before he leaves. He catches himself before he can hug her and awkwardly pats her shoulder instead. Jemma’s eyes widen in amusement, and he spends the whole walk to work cursing himself for instantly turning into such an idiot in front of her, just like the first time they’d met. This is definitely the way to make her believe he’s someone she fell in love with once.

++

When he arrives at the studio, Daisy is already there. She looks like she wants to continue apologizing for the night before, but he just shakes his head. Daisy has always been able to read his moods, so instead she immediately starts chatting about her most recent date.

“You know that guy who’s always wearing the leather jackets and seems a little _too_ interested in fire? Well, it turns out he’s a terrible kisser, so I’m definitely not keeping him in rotation.”

Fitz laughs despite himself. Daisy is so unlike him in so many ways--Fitz was somewhat of a child prodigy and he’d done well throughout school. He even graduated top of his class in college before surprising everyone by eschewing more traditional job offers for a chance at creating his own music. Daisy, on the other hand, had dropped out of high school after a series of abysmal foster placements. He’d found her living in her van in the alley behind the recording studio.

Now, she’s the rebellious, ridiculous, unbelievably kindhearted and generous younger sister he’d never had. She was the one who’d pushed him to get over himself and take a chance with Jemma in the first place.

Fitz sets up his laptop and starts pulling up tracks. “Look, I know I need to be around more…” He knows things have been sliding and that Daisy, as hard as she tries, can’t be expected to run everything in his absence.  

Daisy clears her throat. “Um, so how is she?”

He doesn’t know what to say. He and Daisy talk about everything, but the last thing he’d confided in her about his relationship was when, after a few beers, he’d told her that he and Jemma were talking seriously about children, and she had squealed and tackled him. His beer had sloshed all over both of them, but he’d been so happy. Now, he doesn’t even know how to express the fear and the sorrow that have settled deep within his bones.

Jemma is the sunshine optimist in their relationship and he’s finding it harder than he thought to take over the role.

“She’s getting there,” he finally says, simply. “It’ll be fine.” Daisy doesn’t press, and for that he’s grateful. He’s never lied to her.

++

Jemma walks around the apartment slowly, gathering evidence like the forensic scientist she’d wanted to be as a young child. It’s like an alternate universe--the decor, the books, the feel of the place; it _could_ be her, but it’s not.

On the coffee table, Fitz has set out a DVD with a sticky note attached: “More evidence,” in careful, neat handwriting that she doesn’t recognize.

She bites her lip, unsure if she really wants to watch, but her curiosity gets the better of her. As soon as it starts playing, she realizes it’s her wedding and she wants to cry because she looks so happy, _radiant_ even, but she can’t feel any of the emotions.

Fitz, with overgrown curls and a clean-shaven face that makes him look so much more boyish than the man she met at the hospital, is staring at her walking down the aisle with such complete adoration that she feels a sharp twist of grief deep in her gut.

He’s wearing a kilt and she blushes a bit at how attractive she finds him. Does she have a thing for kilts? Or maybe it’s just Fitz. It’s all very confusing.

The ceremony is simple but sweet, not as traditional as she’d expected her parents would have insisted on. Now that she thinks about it, she doesn’t see her parents anywhere--it’s mostly people around their age, and an older woman who looks like Fitz’s mother.

She can’t imagine her own parents not attending her wedding, and she frowns, rubbing her forehead.

Fitz’s voice breaks through her thoughts and she looks up, mesmerized. “You have made me a better person, a whole person. I owe you everything. You’re the most brilliant, talented, beautiful, silly, kind-hearted person I’ve ever met. People keep saying we’re psychically linked, so I hope you know that you’re my best friend in the world, but you’ve always been so much more than that. ” Tears flood his eyes and his voice wavers. Jemma puts a hand to her face, surprised to discover that she’s started crying at some point, too.

“I vow to be by your side the whole damn time, to support you in everything, no matter what. I vow to love you and respect you for the rest of our lives. But we’ll just have to agree to disagree on the subject of monkeys as pets and the proper ratio of sugar to tea.”

The audience bursts into laughter and she watches herself pull Fitz towards her and kiss him soundly, before she’s even gotten through her own vows.

She turns the TV off abruptly. She can’t bear to see what she had promised to Fitz. If this video is an accurate reflection of their relationship, she’s lost something she never expected to have and it hurts profoundly.

Jemma pushes herself off the couch, suddenly needing to leave the apartment. She walks down the street quickly, the cold air biting and pushing the more melancholic thoughts from her mind.

She ducks into a nearby coffee shop for a respite from the wind and finds herself staring up at the menu, at a loss. It’s got quite a hipster vibe and has a number of drinks she’s never even heard of before.

“Umm,” she starts, still eyeing the menu when it’s her turn.

“You want the usual?” the barista asks, handing someone passing behind an order slip.

“Oh, I have a usual?” Jemma is secretly delighted by the additional clue. “Yes, I’ll have the usual, then.”

Back outside, she takes a careful sip of the hot drink and frowns. It’s not _bad_ , certainly, it just… doesn’t seem like something she’d love enough to order every time. She’s concentrating on her drink and on keeping her head down against the chill when she realizes she’s gotten completely turned around.

Jemma pats around in her pockets, panicking when she discovers she’s left the phone at the apartment. She forces herself to take calming breaths, like she had when she was a little girl newly arrived in America and lost in the city streets.

She steps into a corner grocery and begs the attendant for a phone. He hands her his cell phone and she pauses, unsure of where to find help.

In the end, she calls her mother. It’s the only number she can remember.

++

“Ugh, Fitz, you’re driving me crazy,” Daisy complains without looking up from her laptop.

“What? I’m not doing anything!”

“Yes, you are. You’re being all jittery. You’ve got a nervous energy.” Daisy glares at him but there’s no heat behind it.

“Nervous energy?” Fitz scoffs, but he has to admit that he’s been distracted most of the day, wondering if he should call Jemma or give her space.

“Why don’t you just go home for a little while? We have that meeting at 3:30, but I can handle everything until then. You’ve made a valiant effort.” Daisy rolls her eyes, but he can see concern etched into her features.

He debates protesting but he’s getting nothing accomplished and Daisy can obviously see right through him. “Yeah, okay. Thanks, Daisy. I really appreciate it.”

“Yeah, remember this when I need to leave early for another date with the electrician, okay?”

Fitz laughs as he grabs his laptop and jacket. “Are any of these dates going to have names?”

Daisy smirks. “This one might, actually, but I have to be sure before I introduce him to you. Don’t want to scare him off.”

“Me? You think I could scare off any of those extremely well-formed men you date?” Fitz gestures towards his torso in resignation. “I have the body of a 12-year-old.”

Daisy snorts gracelessly. “Oh my _god_ , Fitz, you do not! And besides, they’re all afraid to meet you because they know if Fitz doesn’t approve, it’s over, no questions asked.”

Her statement affects him more than he can say, so he simply smiles and shoves her arm jokingly.

Daisy’s energy has put him in a much more optimistic mood, so he stops by a florist on his way back to the apartment, carefully selecting a bouquet of flowers in varying shades of yellow. Jemma doesn’t have a specific favorite flower, but the bright yellows always remind her of sunshine. They remind him of the time she had dragged him out hiking at sunrise and the field of yellow spread out before them had been almost as beautiful as she was.

“Hey, Jemma,” he yells as he opens the door and sets his bag down. “I have a short break, I thought maybe we could go out to lunch?”

When no one answers, he calms down his panic, knowing that he’s being ridiculously overprotective. She’s probably just in the bathroom. Or maybe she even went down to the studio.

“Jemma?” He finds a vase for the flowers and fills it up, placing it in the center of their dining table. When he does, he notices her cell phone still sitting in the center, and all of the fears hovering beneath the surface crash over him.

“Jemma? _Jemma?!”_ Fitz races through their small apartment, runs down to the studio, and then stumbles through their neighborhood, asking perfect strangers if they’d seen her. He is such an _idiot;_ he never should have left her alone so soon. Anything could have happened to her in a city she doesn’t know.

His phone rings and he almost falls trying to answer it, hoping it’s Jemma.

“Hello?” he answers, breathlessly, not even noticing the name on the caller ID.

“Fitz? Are you okay?” He pinches the bridge of his nose. It’s just Daisy.

“Daisy, it’s not a good time--”

“What happened? Are you not coming to the meeting?”

 _Shite_. “I’m sorry, I can’t. Cover for me will you?”

He can almost sense Daisy’s reluctance and a small part of him feels guilty for putting all of this on her. It’s an important meeting, but god, _Jemma_.

“Yeah, okay,” she finally says. “But what’s going on, are you--”

“Thanks, I’m sorry, I have to go,” he cuts her off, shoving the phone back in his pocket and breathing deeply, somehow unable to get enough oxygen to his lungs.

He decides to head back to the apartment; she might have found her way home by now, and if not he can regroup. Maybe call Mack, see what he thinks they should do.

He’s barely been back five minutes when she comes breezing through the apartment door, looking so unlike the Jemma he’d left that morning. She’s wearing a nice skirt, a patterned cardigan buttoned over a blouse. It’s clear that she’s gone shopping.

“Where have you been?” he snaps, immediately regretting his tone when something indignant and vulnerable flashes in her eyes.

“I got lost,” she admits. “I forgot my phone, so I called my mum. We spent the afternoon together. She uh, took me shopping. And my parents invited us to dinner.”

Fitz freezes. Dinner with Jemma’s parents is certainly not what he needs to round out this week.

“Everything’s so out of place for me right now, Fitz. And it’s _hard_ , it’s really hard. Maybe I’ll wake up tomorrow and remember everything, but for right now, my parents are the only thing I’m sure about. Can we just try?”

She doesn’t know this, but Fitz has never once said no to Jemma Simmons.

++

As they approach the turnoff for her parents’ house, Jemma suddenly becomes more animated than he’s seen her since the accident, pointing out neighbors’ houses and musing about everyone she used to know. It’s a strange reversal--Fitz has never been here before, so he has to take her word for it. He feels profoundly disconnected from the person he’s shared the best years of his life with and he tries to push his panic down. He’s oddly jealous of Jemma; if the situations had been reversed, he knows she could have handled it so much better. An eternal fountain of optimism and patience, she probably would have already done enough research to put her knowledge of traumatic brain injuries on par with Dr. Morse’s. She would have created a detailed treatment plan for him in days.

He, on the other hand, could only read a few internet articles before he felt nauseous and had thrown his mouse across the room.

The dinner is about as unpleasant as Fitz had feared. He hadn’t grown up with much money, and he feels it acutely at the Simmons house. He fidgets with his cardigan, remembering suddenly the ink stain at the pocket and hoping no one else has noticed. By the way Colleen’s eyes slide over him, he’s sure that’s a foolish hope.

Jemma’s sister, Caitlin, whom he’s actually met a few times, is there with her new fiancé, Ron. The mood is celebratory, but Fitz can’t help feeling like he’s intruding on a carefully cultivated act.

“Before we start,” Malcolm says, holding up his wine glass, “this evening deserves a toast.” He waits until everyone else has dutifully picked up a glass.

“I am so fortunate to have these three beautiful women in my life. Caitlin, congratulations to you and Ron. I’m so happy to welcome a son into the family.” If Jemma notices the slight, she doesn’t react, but Fitz subconsciously sinks further down into his chair.

“And Jemma, honey,” he continues, “welcome home. To family!”

Fitz sips at his wine, avoiding Malcolm’s gaze. There’s so much he wants to say, but his mother’s voice is echoing in the back of his head. He’s here to support Jemma; that’s it.

“So, Leo,” Malcolm starts, and Fitz winces. “What about your family? Do you see them often?”

“No,” he says, imagining his mum’s eyeroll at his monosyllabic answer.

“Well, that’s a shame.” The forced sympathy in his voice makes Fitz seethe.

“My dad died when I was young,” he explains. “And my mum still lives in Scotland. We talk all the time but we haven’t been able to visit much. It’s just Jemma,” he says before he can think better of the admission. “She’s my family.”

Jemma ducks her head and everyone else stares at him with a strange mix of bemusement and mild horror, as if he’s personally affronted them all by bringing in uncomfortable topics to the dinner table.

Caitlin breaks the silence. “So, what have you been up to, Fitz? Are you still in that band?”

“Uh, yeah,” he answers, relieved at having something like an ally around. “I just opened my own recording studio with Daisy, actually. Jemma convinced me to turn it into a business.”

“I did?” Jemma says, finally looking up from her plate. “That doesn’t sound like me. I’m usually much more responsible.”

He doesn’t know how to respond, doesn’t know how to tell her that she’s always been logical and careful but that she’s also the bravest person he’s ever met. He had agonized over the decision, but Jemma had grabbed his hands, holding them to her heart, and said he needed to take a chance on doing something he’s always wanted.

“Like with my art,” she’d said. “I’m so happy now, and I want that for you as well. I’m willing to help out, Fitz, you know I am. I’m always going to support you.” And then she’d drawn him to her, and she’d kissed him, and she’d--

He blinks, turning his attention back to Ron, who’s asking him if it isn’t a dying business, after all.

He wants to laugh, he really does. He would be so happy if a dying business was the worst of his nightmares.

++

“It was horrible,” he tells Daisy the next day, not even pretending to care about work. “And then we went out to a fancy bar with Caitlin and Ron, and we ran into _Milton_.”

“Woah, Milton? As in cabbage-head, ex-fiancé Milton?”

“Well, it’s really more like a Brussels sprout-head, but yes. _That_ Milton. And she seemed so happy to be back. Like she was some sweater-set wearing, mojito-drinking sorority girl, flirting with her ex-fiancé all night.”

Daisy bites her lip. “Are you sure you’re not just uh, overreacting?”

Fitz glares, and she throws her hands up in surrender. “Okay, wrong choice of words. Obviously very few reactions in this situation could be considered an overreaction. But remember when we first met Jemma? She _was_ that person, but it was like she felt she _had_ to be. She never felt comfortable with it all, not really. And then she became friends with all of us and let herself be who she is. But now everything’s all jumbled for her. Maybe she just needs to figure it out on her own again.”

Fitz shrugs. “Maybe. But she didn’t seem uncomfortable.”

Daisy sighs. “You’re a little too close to the situation, Fitz, let’s be real.” She twirls around in her chair for a minute, considering.

“What turns her on?”

Fitz’s mouth drops open. “What? What does that have to do with anything? And it’s private, anyway.”

Daisy rolls her eyes. “It’s not like you don’t know everything about my sex life.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not like I have a choice! You’re an oversharer, Daisy, whereas I am _not_.”

“Hey, I’m not gonna judge, okay! Trust me, there’s a reason I’m asking.”

Fitz stares at her for a moment before dropping his face to his hands, already feeling his cheeks burning. “Um, she likes being… uh, tickled.”

“ _Seriously_?” Daisy snorts, apparently unable to contain herself.

“You just said you wouldn’t judge! It just, gets her out of her own head… sometimes.”

“I’m not judging, I promise! I just wasn’t expecting… um, nevermind, it’s fine. So okay, maybe you should try that?”

“I want to die,” Fitz groans dramatically, and Daisy punches his arm softly.

“Oh my gosh, Fitz, don’t be such a baby. I’m just saying, if it gets her out of her own head, you know, maybe that’s a good thing?”

“Okay, I’ll think about it,” Fitz relents. “Can we just go back to talking about literally anything else now?”

++

Jemma pauses outside the law office doors, shifting her weight from foot to foot uncomfortably. Some part of her knows this is a terrible idea, but she’s tired of sitting in Fitz’s apartment day after day, hoping some memory will come back when it’s becoming increasingly clear to her that nothing’s changing.

Finally, she straightens her back and knocks. When Milton answers he looks surprised but pleased.

“Hi,” she says quietly, eyeing his fitted suit and hair, which he’s cut a bit shorter than she remembers.

“Hey,” he replies, equally soft, as if she’s a fragile bird that he might scare off at any second. “What’re you doing here?”

“Oh, you know,” she smiles. “I was in the neighborhood.”

Their distance is tense and she is so bewildered. The last thing she remembers is being engaged to the man standing in front of her. She had kissed him goodbye just a few days ago. She pinches the bridge of her nose, aware that Fitz would be heartbroken if he discovered her there.

“This was a mistake,” she whispers, mortified to feels tears leaking.

“Hey, Jemma,” he says, crossing to her and pulling her into a hug. “It’s okay. You’ve been through a lot.”

She nods against his chest, remembering the way his arms fit around her, wishing more than anything that she knew what was hers.

“You want to take a walk?” he offers, when her crying has subsided.

“Yeah, sure, that sounds nice.” She slips her hand into his, and he barely flinches.

++

“Do you remember that time at the lake?” Jemma asks, as the make their way towards a riverside walking trail. “You said you’d always have my back. What happened?”

Milton snorts. “Only you can dump a guy and come back demanding answers.”

Jemma stares at him, eyes wide. “I broke up with you?”

“Yep. In a cruel, pre-wedding way.”

No, she hadn’t. She’s not that person. “Well, I must have had a _reason_ ,” she says, hoping he can absolve her. She can’t be the bad guy in this situation.

He shrugs. “You changed. You talked differently, dressed differently, weren’t sure about med school anymore… weren’t sure about me anymore.”

Jemma feels slightly sick to her stomach. “Did I at least give the ring back?”

He laughs. “Yeah, you did.”

They continue walking in awkward silence. “So um, did you ever get married?”

“No, but I’ve been with Rose for over a year now.” He peers down at her, curiously. “I couldn’t wait forever.”

She smiles. “What, you couldn’t imagine that I’d suffer from serious brain trauma, forget we’d broken up, and come waltzing into your office demanding answers? What’s wrong with you?”

He stops walking abruptly and she nearly crashes into him. He’s laughing at her and suddenly her heart’s pounding and before she can stop herself, she leans forward and kisses him. And he’s kissing her back, and it’s just like she remembers her last kiss except everything is off and she suddenly feels like she’s cheating on both Fitz and Milton and her head is spinning.

“I’m sorry,” she says, backing away quickly. “I’m so sorry.” She presses a hand to her right temple, feeling another migraine coming on. “It just seems so ridiculous,” she pleads, although Milton hasn’t said anything. “Why did I shut everyone out for _years_? It just doesn’t seem right.”

Milton has no answers for her. She apologizes again, walking back briskly, tears freezing in her lashes.

++

“Jemma?” Fitz calls as he opens the door. Ever since that first day, his heart stops momentarily every time he comes home. That used to happen anyway, but for an entirely different reason.

“In here!” she replies, and he puts a hand to his chest, waiting for his heartbeat to slow before he follows her voice into the living room. She’s crouched on the floor, pencil in her mouth and hair up in a messy bun. It’s the most she’s looked like the Jemma he remembers since before the accident, and his breath catches.

“Uh, what’re you doing?” he asks, noticing the photos stacked into piles on the floor interspersed with blank pages filled with her loopy handwriting.

“Making a timeline,” she says, scrunching her nose and moving a photograph to a small stack on her left.

“A timeline of…?”

“My memories.” She pushes back onto her heels, sighing in frustration. “I’m trying to pinpoint the last memory I have.”

He smiles without realizing it until he notices her staring at him. “What? What’s so funny?”

Fitz shakes his head quickly. “Sorry, no, it’s not funny. It’s just… it’s very _you_. Trying to map out everything. It’s your scientific side.”

Jemma smiles back at him and his whole body tingles. Sometimes, even when she still doesn’t know him, he feels like there’s a connection that will always be there. He knows on some level that it’s silly, but moments like these give him hope.

“So, have you figured out what your last memory is?”

“I was at an outdoor barbecue, and I was asking who brought the homemade pesto aioli. But I can’t remember the answer.”

“Oh no,” Fitz exclaims and Jemma looks up at him sharply. “How are we ever going to find out now?”

She laughs then, really laughs, and it’s so _Jemma_ \--the Jemma he’s known for years--that he reaches out and tickles her without even thinking.

Jemma jumps from his touch, staring at him with wide eyes. “ _What_ are you doing?” she gasps.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!” Fitz pushes himself away from her as fast as he can, mortified that he’d crossed any boundary with her.

“It’s okay,” she says. “Please don’t apologize. I know it’s me, I know--”

“No,” he cuts her off. “It’s my fault, I shouldn’t have…” They both look down at the evidence she’s accumulated of her life, the careful categories.

“Um…” Jemma is the first to break the silence. “I was thinking maybe you could show me my studio, if you want?”

“Oh, yes, of course!” Fitz jumps to his feet, determined not to screw this up. “I think you’ll really like it. Designed it exactly to your specifications.”

He leads her downstairs, remembering the first time she’d finally been satisfied enough to give him a tour. He panics, afraid he can’t articulate everything this place means to her. It’s always been _her_ space; he’s just a visitor, but now she’s looking around with a guarded expression.

He shows her some of the completed artwork and she pauses, analyzing them carefully. “And these--” he indicates some sculptures on a workbench, “these are ones you’ve been working on for that art gallery commission. You were working nonstop on these before uh… before.”

Jemma reaches out but doesn’t quite touch the piece, like she’s in a museum about to be scolded.

“What’s it supposed to be?” she asks. She doesn’t think it looks like anything. She can’t believe someone is _paying_ for this work.

“I’m not sure,” Fitz answers, coming around to the side and scrutinizing the sculpture as well. “I’m not sure you even knew yet.”

Jemma frowns and walks towards the other end of the studio, moving as if through molasses. Fitz has the sense that he’s losing her, that this was his last chance at enticing Jemma back into her old life.

“Oh, I know!” he says, rushing over to the stereo in the corner. He presses play and turns the volume up. “You would listen to this stuff all the time while you were working. It’s a good thing we don’t have too many neighbors.”

“Can you turn the music down?” she says, pressing a hand to her temple.

“I swear you used to listen to it this loudly!” Fitz insists, and he realizes that he’s pushing her too hard but he can’t help a ludicrous hope that this is it, this music will be what jars her memories loose.

“Fitz, _stop_! Just turn the music off! _”_

It’s the first time she’s raised her voice at him since the night he brought her home, and his hand shakes as he shuts the music off.

“Jemma, I’m trying to help you,” he starts, but she cuts him off before he can say anything else.

“I know, I know you are. But please just stop. It’s _too much_.”

“What… what do you want me to do?” he asks, aware that he’s practically begging.

“Can you just give me some space? I just--” she waves her hand, and he thinks that any other time in the years he’s known her he would know what she needs, but he’s in love with a stranger and it’s killing him.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “Yeah, I’ll just go to the store for a bit. We need groceries anyway.”

Jemma nods without looking at him and he leaves the studio, wondering if it’s the last time he’ll be back.

++

When he returns an hour later with a single bag of groceries, he sees an unfamiliar car parked next to his and his stomach clenches.

He opens the door to find Jemma standing next to her father, her head down and a duffle bag at her feet.

He knows what this means.

“Caitlin’s drowning in wedding preparations,” Malcolm says without bothering to greet him like he’s a person worthy of anyone’s time. “Jemma’s going to come home for a bit until after the wedding to help out.”

Fitz nods, eyeing his feet, marveling at the fact that there’s anything left of his heart to break. “Um, can I--” he doesn’t know how to finish his sentence. _Can I beg your daughter to stay? Can I just say goodbye to everything good in my life without your overbearing presence?_

In the end, he doesn’t bother saying anything. Malcolm nods tersely and steps outside, telling Jemma he’ll wait for her in the car.

“I just want you to be careful,” Fitz says.

“I’m not joining a cult, Fitz,” Jemma replies, quirking her lip slightly. “I’m just going to stay with my family.”

“I know, but--”

“But what?”

It’s not his place. He’s nothing to her, a failed experiment, and it’s not his place to reveal everything he knows about her family, to plead for a place in her life.

“Can I at least give you an awkward hug?” he asks in lieu of everything he really wants to say.

Jemma smiles and hugs him, and it is awkward, but it’s also a balm and he holds on for too long anyway.


	4. falling in love should be easy as 1-2-3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay this chapter has a very angsty ending, but it gets better from here guys, I promise!!

A nurse leads Jemma and her parents into a room, taking vitals and asking questions in preparation. When he leaves to get Dr. Morse, Jemma leans towards her parents and whispers, “Dr. Morse is _amazing_. If it hadn’t been for her, I never would have made it!”

“We know, sweetheart,” Colleen says absently, picking up a brochure and flicking through it. Jemma sighs, aware of how her parents now treat her like a child. But she feels like a child in so many ways--struggling to navigate a strange world, clinging to anything or anyone remotely familiar.

Dr. Morse enters with good news, having seen nothing abnormal in any of the latest follow-up tests.

“Have you been able to remember anything?”

Jemma shakes her head, clearly frustrated. “Not really. That’s not normal, is it?”

Before Dr. Morse can answer, Malcolm cuts in. “Jemma seems herself again, finally. It’s really wonderful.”

Dr. Morse looks between Jemma and her parents, analyzing them in a way that makes Jemma feel very exposed. “Could I have a moment alone with Jemma, please?” she asks, and Malcolm and Colleen leave reluctantly.

Jemma stares down at her feet, suddenly worried Dr. Morse will think she hasn’t been trying hard enough to get better. Instead, she takes a seat next to Jemma and places a hand on her knee sympathetically.

“You know,” she says, “I’ve had patients who were afraid to regain their memory. Afraid of the memory of the original trauma.”

“That’s not it,” Jemma rushes to explain, but falters quickly.

“Then what are you afraid of?”

Jemma sighs, pressing her fingers to her temple and trying to articulate everything that’s been bothering her since she woke up without the past decade of her life. “I don’t know,” she admits finally. “Everything about my life, this life I’ve apparently chosen for myself, it seems so _off_. What if I don’t like the life I’ve built? What if I don’t like who I am now?”

Dr. Morse nods, considering her words thoughtfully. “Well, I’ve only done one psych rotation, so this might be terrible advice. But Jemma, if you don’t open yourself up, you’re going to live your life in fear of your past. At the very least, you should be honest with yourself.”

Jemma knocks a foot against her chair, sighing. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

She leaves the doctor’s appointment still unsure of herself but secretly hoping whatever else happens, Dr. Morse might decide she’d like a tiny, English, brain-damaged friend.

++

Daisy glances at Fitz suspiciously when he walks into the studio. “Um… you do not look like I imagined you would.”

Fitz frowns at her, pulling his earbuds out and tossing his jacket onto a nearby chair. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Daisy taps a pencil against her notebook. “Uh… Jemma went back to live with her parents? Kinda thought you’d be, uh, distraught. Unshaven. Unwashed. Jim Morrison sorta vibe.”

Fitz huffs. “Well, I’m fine. Better than fine, actually. I have a _plan._ It’s simple really. This whole time, I’ve been hoping Jemma would regain her memories and all the feelings would come back. I’ve been approaching it completely wrong. All I have to do is make her fall in love with me all over again.”

“Oh, that’s all?” Daisy asks drily.

“Hey, you’re supposed to be one of my best friends. You’re supposed to be supportive!” Fitz looks genuinely upset at her reaction. Chastised, she bounces over and hugs him tightly.

“I _am_ supportive, you know I am. And I’ll do anything to help. I just… I don’t want to see you get hurt. This past month you’ve been really… well, down. Okay, understatement of the century. I know you’re trying and I know how much you love Jemma, but I love _you_. And Hunter and Mack and all our other friends and your mom, we all love you. We just don’t want to see you in even more pain.”

Fitz leans into her embrace, breathing in her smoky scent, letting her comfort him the way he’d comforted her when her biological mom had died.

“Just be careful,” Daisy says when she finally lets go.

“I won’t be careful, I’ll get the job done,” he replies, smiling to show he’s joking.

Daisy doesn’t seem amused. “Fitz...” she warns.

“Okay, okay. I’ll be careful,” he tells her, and he tries not to feel guilty about the lie.

++

Fitz walks around aimlessly at Caitlin’s engagement party, downing his champagne and wiping the condensation onto his pants. He is fine, he can do this.

He makes his way towards Ron, who’s talking with a group of people he doesn’t recognize. Jemma is with her sister inside the house, and he doesn’t feel comfortable in there so he tries to subtly hover at the edge of this group.

“Look, I admire you, I really do. I don’t think I could settle down with one girl for the rest of my life,” one of the guys is saying, slapping Ron on the back a bit obnoxiously. “It sounds like a prison, to be honest.”

Ron laughs in response. “Yeah, I do worry, honestly. This wedding has already become a huge deal. What will marriage be like?”

Fitz rocks back on his heels, fingers itching for another drink. He has close male friends, but he’s never felt he fit in with guys like these, jockeying against each other, unwilling to admit to any vulnerabilities.

He’s about to back away when Ron calls over to him. “What do you think, Fitz? You’re the only one of us who’s married.” Ron seems to realize too late that referencing Fitz’s marriage might be in poor taste because he winces imperceptibly and holds a placating hand towards Fitz.

Fitz clears his throat, aware that everyone’s staring at him, anticipating some joke.

“Um… I uh, I don’t think you should worry,” he offers, lamely. Someone snorts and Ron grimaces sympathetically. Fitz blinks rapidly. “I mean,” he continues, pushing on past his discomfort, past everyone else’s judgment. “Marriage is the best thing I’ve ever experienced. Being able to come home every day to your best friend, to the one person you love most in the world and who loves you most, it’s… it’s not confining. It’s _fun_. It’s perfect.”

Fitz is suddenly cognizant of how much he’s spoken to absolute strangers and he steps back unconsciously. He glances to his side and sees Caitlin standing nearby, champagne flute in her perfectly manicured hands. She smiles at him genuinely and he sighs, relieved that for once he seems to have impressed someone in Jemma’s family.

Jemma steps up to him then, and it’s the first time he’s been so close to her since she left with her father a week ago.

“Hi,” she says, and he has an almost uncontrollable urge to ask _is that really you?_ He presses his right thumb into his left palm, keeping his fingers busy so they don’t reach for her after all.

“Dinner,” he responds and cringes almost immediately. She stares up at him, honey eyes luring him to her again and again.

“What? Didn’t you eat?”

“Yeah, no no no, I mean, me and you. Maybe we could eat somewhere else, you know. Somewhere… nice.”

Her pause stretches for days, until, “Oh.”

He can’t read her like he could in the past and the whole plan tumbles from his lips before he can stop himself. “You can’t remember how we met or how we fell in love, but it was the best time of my life. And we have a chance to experience that all over again. So… so, dinner. A date. Like two people who are just meeting for the first time.”

Jemma’s eyes flicker past him to where he knows Milton is hovering, and he fights down any hurt he feels.

“I don’t know,” she answers cautiously. “The wedding’s coming up.”

“But if we go before the wedding, I might still be able to be your date.”

Jemma smiles up at him then, shyly, nodding her assent. “Okay, dinner. Yeah. That sounds nice.”

“Great!” Fitz consciously smoothes his face out, knowing she can probably tell he’s being overeager but trying to hide it all the same. “Well, you come find me when you’re finished here and I’ll start working on options to run by you… for that.”

He walks off before he can say anything else to further humiliate himself. He shakes his head in amazement. _Get it together, mate_ , he tells himself, the voice in his head sounding suspiciously like Hunter’s. Anyone witnessing his meltdown would think he were an achingly shy sixteen year-old boy, not a married man.

++

Fitz spends far more time than he cares to admit picking an outfit. Should he dress like he did when they first met? Or when they started dating and he was putting in slightly more effort? Or should he not deviate too much from what she’s already seen in case she thinks he’s trying too hard?

He’s holding a tie up to his shirt, squinting and tilting his head, when loud knocking jars him from his analysis. He almost falls over himself rushing to the door. _Shite, it’s Jemma, and I’m not even dressed_ he panics, before remembering that he’s picking _her_ up.

He opens the door to Daisy, Hunter, and Mack. “I don’t need help from the three stooges,” he starts, but Daisy brushes past him to his bedroom while Mack makes himself at home on the couch with a book. Hunter, clearly already drunk, tries to talk him into pre-gaming.

“C’mon, mate. Weren’t you drunk the first time you took her out?”

“ _No_ ,” Fitz objects. “I had _one drink_. To calm my nerves. But I wasn’t drunk!”

Hunter holds up a beer, waggling his eyebrows, but Daisy returns before he can argue.

“This one,” she says, tossing him a simple navy cardigan. “Over the button-up you’re wearing now, no tie.”

Fitz holds it up curiously. It’s not really the type of thing Daisy usually likes men to wear. “This? Really?”

Daisy nods decisively. “I definitely recall Jemma saying she wanted to, and I quote, ‘get into some bad girl shenanigans and jump Fitzy’s bones’ when you wore that.”

“Aww, come on, Treble,” Mack protests without looking up from his book. “Too much information.”

Daisy tosses a balled-up t-shirt at Mack’s head which he manages to bat away without looking. She turns to Fitz as he puts the cardigan on. “Go on, go on,” she shoos. “You don’t want to be late for your first date!”

“Hey, I’m staying here for a bit. I wanna play that new game I picked up,” Hunter calls from the kitchen, opening up another beer. “But we’ll be gone soon just in case you’re bringing the lady friend back.” He grins lasciviously and Fitz rolls his eyes.

“Okay, fine.” Fitz grabs his keys from the dining table, but Daisy stops him before he can bolt.

“Oh wait, let us see!”

Fitz groans. “You lot are insufferable.”

Hunter whistles wolfishly while Mack does his standard eyebrow-raise of approval. Daisy wipes pretend tears from her eyes.

“Baby’s all grown up!” she sighs.

“Ugh,” Fitz responds, turning back towards the door, but Daisy tackles him in a tight hug before he can leave.

“Seriously, you look great. Go get her.”

Fitz smiles down at her. “Thanks, Daisy. You’re the most supportive pretend sister I’ve ever had.”

++

Jemma feels like a teenager waiting in her parents’ house for a date, and Caitlin’s quietly prying glances aren’t helping to calm her nerves, so she steps outside. When Fitz walks up, her chest tightens pleasantly. He’s so very handsome, and it’s something she hasn’t fully taken the time to appreciate in the midst of trying to put the pieces of her life back together.

Fitz gives her a light kiss on the cheek. She blushes, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and looking up in time to see him giving her a very obvious once-over.

“What? Do I look weird?” she asks, when he doesn’t say anything. “I feel a bit weird all dressed up like this.” She hadn’t known how casual the date might be, and her dress and heels suddenly make her feel overdressed next to Fitz’s more casual outfit.

“No, you look nice is all,” he responds, and although she’s been given much more enthusiastic compliments in the past (probably by Fitz himself), his comment causes a slight shiver to course through her.

“So, what’s the plan?” she asks when they’re settled into his car.

“I thought we’d go to the city, do a little retrospective.”

“Retrospective?”

“Yeah, just some places that had a special meaning to us.”

“Oh,” Jemma says. “Fitz, I don’t want you to be disappointed--”

“It’s okay if you don’t remember,” he interrupts, fiddling with the radio dial. “I just thought it might be nice to show you.”

Jemma nods, relaxing back into the seat.

“And first stop, of course, is dinner. I’m feeling a bit peckish.”

Jemma giggles and he catches her eye and his smile is soft enough to break her heart.

“ _This_ is dinner?” she asks, forty minutes later when they each have a plate of giant waffles sitting in front of them.

Fitz has already started eating and he looks happier than she’s ever seen him. His mouth is full so he can only nod, gesturing for her to try.

“Surely I wouldn’t have encouraged a dinner of so little nutritional value.” But as soon as she takes a bite her protestations die on her tongue.

Fitz arches his eyebrows primly. “You were actually the one who first brought me here. But pace yourself, we’re getting dessert down the street.”

“Ugh,” Jemma laughs. “I should have worn leggings.”

++

Fitz takes her to the planetarium after dessert. “It closes at 4,” he explains, “but one Thursday a month they do this _Adler After Dark_ thing. We used to come here a lot. Tonight’s theme is _Weird Science_ which sounds terrifying enough to wind up as future inspiration for one of your sculptures.”

Jemma giggles, linking her arm through Fitz’s as he leads the way. She looks up at the stars, and he looks at her, heart in his throat.

They’re having _fun_. It’s an uneven sort of feeling, their equilibrium off, but he hadn’t enjoyed an evening this much since before the accident.

When she glances over at him to point something out, he wants to kiss her so badly it hurts.

Maybe his wife can still read his mind because she smiles widely at him, burning him up with her gaze. “I don’t know what your Jemma did on a first date,” she says, widening her eyes in mock innocence. “But you’re only getting to first base.”

Before he can question if his brain’s hopeful interpretation is correct, she’s pressing her lips to his, firmly but gently.

He’s barely responded before she pulls away, laughing at his expression.

“Wait, I can do better, I promise,” he says. “My lips are numb from the cold!”

“Oh well, we can’t have that, can we?” She’s being silly and flirty, just like on the last date they had--

He grabs her to him before he can think about how their last date ended, tasting the chocolate on her mouth, wanting to cry because all of his pieces are sliding back together so perfectly. _Jemma Jemma Jemma_ he thinks, and he’s been drowning this whole time but she came back to save him.

++

Fitz drops her off at her parents’ house, kissing her goodbye chastely. “Thank you for coming out with me tonight,” he says.

“I had a really nice time,” Jemma replies. She pushes the car door open, and Fitz reaches for her desperately.

“I miss you,” he breathes, and it’s like watching a train wreck in slow motion because he sees what’s happening but he’s powerless to stop the confession tumbling from his lips. “I miss our life together. I miss being with you. I _love_ you.” He presses his lips together tightly, horrified.

Jemma looks down. “I uh, should probably get inside,” she says. “Goodnight, Fitz.”

“Goodnight,” he whispers through his own mortification, but she smiles at him gently and he somehow manages to exhale.

Jemma closes and locks the front door behind her, leaning her head against the wood and trying to take calming breaths.

“Were you with Milton?” her sister’s voice calls from the hallway and Jemma jumps as Caitlin flicks a light on.

“No, I was with Fitz.” Jemma doesn’t elaborate, and Caitlin nods, eyeing her carefully.

“I like him,” Caitlin says.

“Yeah, me too.” Jemma places a palm to her forehead and the next thing she knows she’s crying.

“Are… are you okay?” Caitlin asks, and all Jemma can do is shake her head. Everything is so confusing. She thinks she loves Milton, but Fitz, _Fitz_ is bright and new and challenging and _different_ and maybe he’s right, maybe there’s something between them.

Caitlin hugs her, resting her head against Jemma’s shoulder. “I’ve never seen you like this before. Is this crying thing the new you? Because it’s bizarre.”

Jemma laughs thickly, but she stays where she is, letting her baby sister hold her like she never has before.

++

Jemma texts Fitz the next day. She’s careful not to push things too fast. She’s aware that for Fitz, they’re married, but he’s still someone she met a month ago who took her on one lovely date. She’s frightened of hurting him and herself.

Jemma is sitting at the kitchen table, contemplating a response to Fitz’s text. It needs to be cute and witty, open but slightly aloof. _All right, Jemma_ , she chastises herself. _You’re not a bloody teenager._

Her dad walks in before she can finish her text. “Jemma, honey, I have a surprise for you!”

Jemma looks up quickly, hiding her phone in her bag. For some reason, her father doesn’t seem to approve of Fitz, and she’d rather not deal with that until she knows if there’s any reason to.

“What surprise?” she asks, pasting on a bright smile.

Malcolm tosses a packet of information at her, and Jemma quickly reads the top paper which informs her that she’s been accepted to medical school.

“What? I don’t understand.”

“You remember my old buddy Alfred Jane? He’s dean of the medical school now. After I explained about your… extenuating circumstances, he’s agreed to let you back in!”

“Dad… I don’t know what to say!” Jemma jumps up and throws her arms around father. “This is so… I just, I feel like I’m being given a free do-over in life.”

Malcolm pats Jemma’s arm fondly. “Use it wisely.”

Jemma bristles but mostly pushes it aside. When she woke up and everything had fallen apart, she never could have imagined opportunities would find her all over again. She’s determined not to waste them.

++

Fitz hasn’t been to a wedding in a long time. He sits in the back, fiddling with the program, but when the ceremony starts he sits up at attention. Jemma had always teased him for being such a romantic.

Jemma walks down the aisle, smiling at him when she catches his eye, and she absolutely takes his breath away.

For once, he’s not paying careful attention to the wedding ceremony. Instead, he can’t stop the images playing in his head of their own wedding. She had promised to be by his side forever and his hand reaches for her instinctively.

He knows she’s not there, has known for a long time, really, but the mid-afternoon sunlight is filtering down through the trees and everything has a glow of optimism and love that he’s too weak to resist.

++

Fitz hangs around the reception for longer than he feels comfortable, nursing his fourth drink of the night. Jemma had told him to wait for her, but she’s being pulled in multiple directions by extended family members and childhood friends.

He stretches his arms out, leaning against the balcony and breathing in the crisp night air. A shadow slips across him, and he turns to see Malcolm standing next to him.

“You look like you could use a drink,” he says, holding a tumbler of scotch towards him.

Fitz shakes his head. “I’ve had several.”

Malcolm pauses. “I’m glad we’re having a moment alone, Leo. I haven’t had a chance to really talk to you. But Colleen and I have been talking, and I think it’s probably time to let us take it from here.”

Fitz looks up, furrowing his brow. “Take what from here?”

“Things with Jemma. I know you must be drowning in debt. Divorce her.”

“Wha- _what?_ ” Fitz can’t believe what he’s hearing. Despite what he knows of Jemma’s father, somehow he still refuses to believe he could be this cruel.

Malcolm sips his drink, as if nothing about this conversation could be expected to phase him.

“I don’t think this is the time or place to discuss this,” Fitz finally responds, hoping to put off this conversation forever.

“What about doing what is obviously the right thing for Jemma?”

Fitz feels his temper rising. “You’re such a hypocrite. You never once tried to make things right with Jemma before. Now you’re acting like you’ve gotten a consequence-free reset. And Jemma can make her own decisions. If she asks me to leave, I’ll leave. But I’m not going to let you threaten me.”

Fitz stalks off, aware that his hands are shaking. He feels nauseous, having never been particularly keen on confrontation. He just wants to find Jemma and leave as quickly as possible.

Instead, because the cosmos really is out to get him, Milton walks up to him, slapping him on the back. Fitz breathes deeply. _I try to be a good person_ , he thinks desperately. _What can I have possibly done to deserve this?_

“I broke up with Rose,” Milton tells him and Fitz is sure that Milton can’t possibly be this oblivious. He must be torturing him. And Fitz knows where this is going, he really does.

“Did Jemma tell you that she threw herself at me the other day?” Milton continues and Fitz was wrong, he never escaped, he’s still drowning.

“The thing is, she outgrew you,” Fitz responds even though he knows engaging at all is a mistake.

“Hm, interesting. I’ll mull that over while I’m in bed with your wife.”

It’s the drinks, Fitz decides later. It’s the drinks and Jemma’s father and being taunted by a horrible cabbage-head of a person because Fitz truly loves weddings and he would never do anything to ruin one. _This isn’t me_ , he thinks, as his fist connects with the side of Milton’s face, but it feels like him, it feels better than he expected.

++

“Fitz!” Jemma yells, stopping him when he’s feet from the cab he’d called. He falters and she runs towards him, but when she reaches his side she opens and closes her mouth without saying anything.

“I’ve seen the way you look at him,” Fitz says sadly, gesturing back toward the house, wondering how it all fell apart so spectacularly. “It’s how you used to look at me. I think we need to be realistic.”

Jemma wraps her arms around herself and he’s not sure if she’s protecting herself from the bitter wind or from his words. “I’m not trying to hurt you,” she says, tears trickling down her face, her mascara running. “I’m just so tired of disappointing you.”

“I know,” Fitz says, because he does. He knows.

“I’m so sorry,” Jemma whispers.

Fitz looks down at his shoes, ones she’d bought him months ago. “I know. I’m sorry too.”

He turns from her and she grabs his arm and his heart stutters in his chest.

“I hope one day I can love someone the way that you love me,” Jemma breathes, holding onto his hand a second too long, scalding them both.

Fitz smiles kindly because he loves Jemma the most no matter what, and all he wants is for her to be happy. “You figured it out once. You’ll do it again.”

He leans forward, pressing his lips to her right temple, soothing the ache always just beneath the surface.

He cries the whole ride home. The cab driver refuses to take any money.

++

Daisy walks into the studio and freezes as she sees Fitz strumming his guitar and quietly singing under his breath.

“ _Shit,”_ she exhales. “You’re here and not at the wedding with Jemma. What happened? Are you okay?”

Fitz shrugs, not meeting her eyes. “It’s done. I give up.”

Daisy scoffs. “You never give up, Fitz.”

Fitz bites his lip, setting the guitar down by his feet, clenching and unclenching his fists. “If we were meant to be together, we’d be together, Daisy. But we’re cursed. The bloody cosmos wants us to be apart.”

Daisy snorts inelegantly. “You don’t believe that, I know you don’t. You’re _cursed?_ The _cosmos_ wants you to be apart? When have you ever talked like that?”

Fitz looks up then, meeting her eyes for a moment without speaking, and the expression Daisy sees on the surface is enough to make her suddenly too weak to stand. She collapses into a chair next to Fitz.

“We went to this hole-in-the-wall Greek restaurant once,” he says softly. Daisy leans her head on his shoulder, feels the vibrations of his voice running through her. “We were the only people there and the owners were so nice--they spent a lot of time talking to us about the UK, whether we missed home. When they’d gone back to the kitchen I remember telling her that I missed my mum, and all the places I wanted to show her in Scotland. I made some joke about her being English, I can’t even remember now. But she laughed and then she said she loved me. Just… like she hadn’t even meant to say it.” He pauses for so long Daisy thinks that might be the end of the story, but he rubs his eyes wearily.

“I just stared at her for awhile. I think it made her nervous. But I just wanted to hear her say it over and over. That was two weeks after we met.” He rests his head on hers then. “It only took two weeks for her to fall in love with me last time.”

Fitz is crying now, deep hiccuping sobs that shake her from a haze. Daisy wraps her arms around him as tightly as she can, not knowing what to say. “She doesn’t love me,” he whispers. “And I don’t know how to let her go.”

 


	5. a fresh start, part ii

Jemma texts him letting him know when she’s going to be packing up her studio. He had said she could keep her stuff there--he was never stepping foot back in the studio now, anyway. She’d politely declined his offer, and he can’t help but wonder if she’s really that terrified of ever seeing him again.

She comes by at ten, so he walks to the park and stays there all day, falling asleep on a bench.

Malcolm faxes over divorce papers. Fitz keeps those on his dining table and every time he glimpses them it’s like another pinprick. He can’t sign them yet, but he must be getting stronger because eventually the pain of seeing them feels almost bearable.

Jemma spends her days in school and her nights studying. She meets Milton for lunch, for dinner, and sometimes she lets him kiss her and she tries to pretend that if this emptiness is how it always felt, that only means everything’s back to normal. Everything is as it should be.

In the grocery store one day she bumps into Diane, another old friend from college she’d apparently stopped seeing for some reason.

“How are you?” Jemma asks, warmly, wanting to be the person she remembers being.

Diane stares at her. “I’m so sorry,” she blurts, and Jemma blinks in confusion.

“I never had a chance to apologize,” she continues in a rush. “I was just going through a really weird time. Your dad ended it as soon as your mother confronted him about us. I don’t mean to reopen old wounds, but I just needed to say sorry. You were always such a good friend to me, Jemma. I just wish I could return the favor.”

Jemma thinks she must have responded because Diana is hugging her and then she’s gone and the next thing she knows she’s at home with no groceries and a pounding migraine.

“Jemma?” Caitlin is there, hovering in front of her. “I wanted to tell you.”

“You knew?” Jemma asks. “You knew the whole time?”

“I’m so sorry.”

Jemma is so sick of everyone’s apologies.

++

Colleen is working in the front garden when Jemma loses it. “That’s why I left, isn’t it? Because I found out. You… all of you have used my accident to rewrite the past.”

Colleen crouches down, dirt covering her pants. “I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you again.”

“He cheated on you with my _friend!_ ” Jemma yells, even though she knows it’s not her mother’s fault. “How could you stay with him?”

“You don’t understand, Jemma. We were a family. I was going to leave, but I just realized that my family was the most important thing in the world to me. I chose to stay with him for all the things he’d done right. I chose to forgive him.”

Jemma pulls her mother into a hug and tries not to cry. She can’t believe there’s anything left of her to break, but apparently life finds a way.

++

Jemma sits on the curb, idly swirling some dirt with her shoe. She looks up when she hears a familiar laugh and her heart stops when she sees Fitz approaching with a woman she doesn’t recognize.

She knows it’s her fault, knows that Fitz gave her as many chances as he could, but it still hurts more than she had anticipated.

“Jemma!” he says, surprised. “Are you okay?”

She nods, but her eyes are already filling with tears and giving her away. Fitz whispers something to the woman who gives him a hug and walks away. Jemma averts her eyes, as if she’s witnessed something unspeakably intimate.

“What happened?” he asks, sitting down next to her on the sidewalk. She has a desperate urge to curl up into him but recognizes that she has no right to his comfort.

“Did you know about my dad’s affair?”

She doesn’t even need his answer; she can tell by the way he stiffens at her side. “Yeah, I knew,” he answers, looking stricken.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Fitz scratches the back of his neck, sucking in a sharp breath. “I almost did. I shouldn’t have kept something from you. But… your family was giving you comfort. I couldn’t be the one to drive you away from them. I wanted you to love me, but not because you felt you didn’t have anyone else.”

Jemma leans forward, placing her head in her hands. “I just don’t think I can afford to lose them right now.”

“So don’t. You can set your own boundaries, Jemma. But if you want them in your life, they can be.”

She wants to tell him that she thinks about him often but she can’t bear to cause him any more pain. Fitz wraps an arm around her then, and she thinks maybe if they stay here forever her world will finally stop spinning.

++

Not that she remembers the last time this happened, but Jemma is once again sketching in the margins of her notebook. She’s always loved science and she’s wanted to be a doctor since she was a little girl, but sitting in on these lectures, she finds her mind wandering more often than not.

After another class spent daydreaming instead of paying attention like the good student she’s always been, she decides to devote the rest of the day to deliberating in her favorite campus library. Jemma has never quit at anything in her life, but she left medical school once and she’s starting to wonder if maybe this wasn’t the free do-over she had thought she needed.

She finds herself, surprisingly, wanting to discuss this with Fitz. She had already left medical school when she met him, but she has a feeling that of everyone in her life, he’s the one who has never expected anything from her that she’s not.

The last time she’d seen him, he had said so little and managed to comfort her enormously. But he’d also been walking back to his apartment with a woman, and she finds she doesn’t have the strength right now to find out why.

Jemma rests her head in her palms, massaging her temple against an impending headache. _Deep breaths_ , she reminds herself. _You can do this. You can save yourself_.

So she sits for hours. She thinks about why she wanted to be a doctor, about the people she admires and the people who have influenced her. She thinks about the times she remembers being happy and about how she’s starting to feel trapped in her parents’ house. She loves them, and she thinks she might be able to forgive her father someday, but she has always wanted freedom and independence.

There’s nothing keeping her here except fear, she realizes. Caitlin and Ron are in their own home, settling down comfortably. She's stuck in this limbo because it's the path of least resistance. She might not have her memories back but she’s a capable adult and she’s been running from herself for too long.

++

Milton finds her on a park bench, swinging her legs like a child.

“You don’t think we should see each other anymore?” he asks incredulously, holding his phone up as if she needs to read the text she’d sent him an hour ago.

“I mean, we can be friends,” she tries to explain. “But whatever we’re… whatever this is, it isn’t working.”

“I broke up with Rose for you!”

Jemma winces. “And I never asked you to do that! I don’t even know why you did.”

Milton sits down heavily beside her. “Because the old you came back.”

Sometimes, the old Jemma would lie in bed wondering if this was all there would be to her future, but she can’t tell Milton that. Instead, she offers the only truth she can: “I have wonderful memories with you, but there are years of my life that I don’t remember. I need to figure out who I am on my own without you.”

Milton pauses before chuckling humorlessly. “Are you sure you don’t remember breaking up with me the first time?”

She blinks. “No, why?”

“Because it sounded a lot like that.”

Jemma smiles sympathetically. She’s worried and a bit sad but mostly, for the first time in so long, she’s excited for her future.

++

“I said I was coming, _jeez--”_ Daisy opens the door, mouth dropping open in shock when she sees Jemma on her doorstep instead of one of the guys.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I couldn’t hear the doorbell. I wasn’t sure if it was working.” Jemma smiles at her but Daisy offers nothing in response.

“Um… I know this is probably unexpected.” Jemma coughs uneasily as the silence drags on. “Actually, this was a mistake. This was stupid. I’m sorry, I’m sure you hate me for what I did to Fitz.”

Jemma backs up quickly but is stopped by Daisy finally calling out to her. “I don’t hate you.”

“You don’t?”

Daisy rolls her eyes. “Of course not. You don’t remember me, but you’re my friend too. One of my best friends, actually. I, uh, used to joke that I would always be your and Fitz’s third wheel.” She sighs, kicking the doorjamb with her house shoe. “Not very funny anymore.”

Jemma looks down, twisting her hands in front of her nervously.

“So uh, why’re you here?”

“I just wanted to talk.” Jemma indicates the messenger bag she has slung over her shoulder. “I still don’t remember anything, but I brought some pictures. I thought… you might be able to help explain them.”

Daisy shifts from foot to foot. “Why not ask Fitz?”

“Oh,” Jemma’s hand flutters in the air between them. “I’m sure he’s busy.”

Daisy narrows her eyes at the obvious lie and Jemma ducks her head, chastised. “Okay, that’s not it. I just… I miss Fitz, to be honest. A lot. And I’m afraid of, I don’t know. I just want to feel absolutely myself before I contact him. Last time, he tried so hard and I... I can’t put him through that again.”

When Daisy doesn’t respond, Jemma rushes on. “Please don’t think I’m trying to interfere with your relationship with him. You can tell him I stopped by if you want. I was just hoping you and I could be friends again. And… honestly, I could really use a hug.”

Jemma smiles shakily at Daisy and notices that Daisy’s started crying. She wraps her arms around Jemma, drawing her close.

“I’ve missed you so much, Jemma. And I’m pretty good at hugs, actually,” Daisy laughs.

Jemma melts into her embrace, feeling some of her anxiety and tension seep out. “So I’ve heard.”

++

Jemma stretches languidly, sitting up in bed and moving the book she’d apparently fallen asleep reading. When she looks out the window, she sees that the first snowfall of the season has come through and transformed her neighborhood overnight.

And for some reason, this is all it takes--fresh snow, sunlight filtering in through her gauzy curtains, a pleasant dream still tickling the back of her mind. She’s happy and she’s ready, she’s more than ready.

The watercolor she’s been working on sits by her bed and she contemplates it anew. It couldn’t be considered her most artistically sophisticated piece, but it might be her favorite. The blues of the sky match his eyes and the flowers he holds remind her of sunshine.

When she finds Fitz, she will be so gentle with him.

++

Snow glitters all around her and she breathes in slowly, the air burning her lungs. She’d decided to head out on her own, feet retracing steps she’s walked a million times but still can’t remember.

He’s standing in front of a cafe door and everything slows down. Almost three million people in this city and the curly haired man with a ridiculous appetite standing ahead of her is the only one she wants to see.

His name is resting on her tongue and her hands are reaching for him, but if he’s the mirage he’s been for months, he’ll disappear in a moment and she’d much rather savor the illusion while she can.

“Jemma?” he asks, when he’s turned and spotted her. She’s forgotten how her name sounds on his tongue, how beautiful she feels when reflected in his gaze.

“I moved back to the city a few months ago,” she says in a rush, so nervous her hands are trembling. “I’m actually back at the art institute, sitting in on a few classes. It’s crazy what my hands remember. I uh, I wanted to thank you.”

Fitz shrugs in the self-deprecating way she recognizes from their brief time together after her accident. “I didn’t do anything.”

“You _did,”_ and she can’t express how important it is that he believe her. “You did everything. You’ve always accepted me for who I am and not for what you wanted me to be.”

“I just want you to be happy,” he sighs. “That’s all.”

“I am happy, Fitz. But I think… I _know_ I could be so much happier.” She stares at him too long probably, but she wants to memorize every inch of his face. She wants to kiss him and claim him and never let her traitorous brain ruin the best thing in her life again.

“Isn’t there a Cuban place we used to go around here when this cafe was closed?” She continues before he can question her meaning.

“You remember?” Fitz asks, and the hope in his voice stabs her a little.

“Oh, no. None of my memories have returned, unfortunately. I’ve been meeting up with Daisy occasionally. Did she tell you?”

Fitz clears his throat uncomfortably. “Uh, no. She didn’t. I think she might have tried to. But I uh... you know.”

Jemma smiles. “Yeah, I know.” There’s a long pause and Jemma knows she can do this, she can be the bravest she’s ever been.

“I asked her some questions about us,” she offers.

“Oh yeah? What’d she say?”

Jemma takes a deep breath. “She said that… she doesn’t think you’re seeing anyone right now.”

Fitz blinks slowly, as if waking from the longest dream. “She… happens to be right. Are you? Seeing anyone, that is?”

Jemma shakes her head and reaches for his hand. He takes it without hesitation and she wants to cry with relief.

“So, do you want to go to the Cuban place? With me?”

Fitz pulls her against him, and he’s so close she can count the snowflakes against his lashes. “What if we try someplace we haven’t been to before? Someplace new?”

Jemma grins against his chest, his heartbeat anchoring her. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

She’s going to kiss him after dinner. She might even be greedy and kiss him before they order. She’s going to hold onto him and this time she won’t let go.

“It’s beautiful,” Fitz says, stretching out a gloved hand and watching white flecks melt in his palm.

 _Yes_ , Jemma thinks. _You are_.


	6. epilogue: a perfect night, part ii

_two years later_

Jemma slides into the booth as Fitz takes the seat across from her. He orders a bottle of wine and when they each have a glass he lifts his up in a toast.

“First of all, I want to thank you for being so supportive these past few months,” he says sincerely.

Jemma finds herself blushing under his gaze. “You don’t need to thank me, Fitz. That’s what we do.”

“No, I _do_ need to thank you. You’ve put up with the late nights, you’ve helped out whenever you could, and you’ve always been encouraging. This is as much your victory as mine and Daisy’s.”

She concedes with a smile. “You’re welcome. Now are you going to fill me in on this news?”

He grins and it’s so blinding her breath catches. “You remember that little indie band, _Inhuman_ , that recorded at our studio? They just signed a deal with a major label and they want to record their next album at our studio, too! _And_ the lead singer said she wants to work with me and Daisy on a few of their tracks.”

Jemma laughs, happiness bubbling from her lips. “Oh, Fitz, that’s _wonderful_! I knew you and Daisy could do it!”

Fitz narrows his eyes at her. “You figured out what the news was already, didn’t you?”

She sighs, smiling at him fondly. “I had a _guess_. But I had no idea they’d want to use some of your music!” She grabs his hand tightly, interlacing her fingers through his. “Seriously, I can’t even tell you how proud I am of you.”

Jemma lifts her glass up. “To you,” she says.

“To _us_ ,” he corrects.

Jemma takes a sip and sets her glass down, smoothing invisible wrinkles from her dress nervously. “Well, I actually have some good news of my own. It might even be better than your good news.”

Fitz scoffs. “Good news isn’t a competition, Jemma!”

“Well of course not, but if it were we both know I’d win.”

He laughs indulgently and he looks so much younger than he has in months, so relaxed and carefree.

“I was going to wait to tell you, plan something special, but…” Jemma shrugs, not able to articulate how she feels in this moment, how happy she is and how all she wants is to make Fitz the happiest he’s ever been.

“I’m pregnant,” she says finally, breath whooshing out of her. Fitz’s mouth drops open and she can almost see his brain struggling to process her information.

“ _What?_ Are you sure?” Fitz draws his hand back from hers and she immediately misses the contact.

“Pretty sure. Took three tests, but I have an appointment with the doctor next week. Fitz, we’re going to have a _baby_.”

She barely has time to register his movement before he’s on the bench beside her, pulling her into a tight hug.

“Shite, I’m sorry,” he says, releasing her instantly. “Did I hurt you? Did I hurt the baby?”

Jemma laughs, sliding her arms around his waist and resting her head against his hammering heart. “Don’t be silly, you could never hurt us.”

“Jemma, we’re going to have a _baby_!” The shock and delight reverberates in his voice, and she wants to capture this moment, tuck it away safely within her forever.

“There’s no one else I’d rather do this with,” she says, kissing his jaw. “And I love you so much that I might have even spent some time researching monkey-themed nurseries.”

She expects him to laugh, but when she leans back to look up at him tears are streaming down his face. “Fitz?” she asks in concern, gently wiping away the salty water with her thumbs. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he shakes his head dismissively. “I’m sorry, it’s just…”

Jemma grabs his hands in hers, drawing him back to her. “Don’t apologize, Fitz. It’s just what?”

He smiles at her softly. “I don’t think anyone’s ever been happier than I am right now. I guess, after everything that’s happened to us, I never thought I’d have this again. Or that I’d even deserve it.”

She peppers kisses all over his face, greedily. She holds him to her for what feels like hours, not caring where they are or who’s watching. All she cares about is her sweet, ridiculous husband, who somehow still believes there was more he could have or should have done. _You deserve everything good in this world_ , she thinks, and she’s never been more sure of anything in her life.

“Wait, why’d you let me order wine?” Fitz gasps suddenly. “Did you drink any?”

Jemma rolls her eyes, already very aware of how this pregnancy will go. “I took a very tiny sip to keep up appearances. But I’m sure you’ll have no trouble finishing the bottle on your own.”

Fitz starts to move to his chair, but Jemma tugs him back down. “Stay with me,” she says.

“Always,” he replies, and she understands everything he’s promising behind the word.

They sit pressed against each other which makes eating their pasta a bit difficult, but neither of them is too bothered. When they leave Lola’s, Fitz laces his fingers through hers, swinging her arm gently and looking up at the stars.

“Do you still want to stop by Mack’s party?” Fitz asks.

Jemma pauses, licking her lips and tasting crème brûlée on her tongue. She turns abruptly and pushes Fitz until his back is against a building wall. His eyes widen as she steps between his legs.

“Hm… I love Mack, but there will be a lot of people there. And you know what they say about pregnancy hormones, right?” Jemma pulls his head towards her, ghosting her lips over his ear.

“Um.. uh, no, n-not really,” Fitz stammers, grasping her hips desperately.

“I think we should go home. I know how you feel about public displays of affection,” Jemma murmurs, stepping back suddenly and smirking at him.

“Jemma Simmons, you’re going to be the death of me,” Fitz whimpers, inhaling and exhaling slowly.

Jemma wraps her arms around his neck, and this time the only crash is her mouth against his.

"Love you love you love you," he says, filling the only space left between them.

There’s so much she wants to say to Fitz and she will, later, when she's carefully mapped out her words. For now, she presses her face to his chest, breathing in his dizzying scent, and whispers a secret to his heart:  _What more could I possibly need?_


End file.
